When the Teacher is Ready, the Student Appears
by Dragonling743
Summary: AU Dumbledore, and HG Wells have something in common, a loved one lost. Could Helena find what she needs to bring her dear one back? Will she succumb to the encroaching madness? Set in the summer before HBP
1. Leave All Assumptions At The Door

**A/N:** I just loved this idea, thought it would be fun. Placed in the summer before book six. AU sorta. Please R&R it means so much. A little OOC sorry, Dumbledore is hard to read as the vulnerable student.

"Lemon Drops." The rich british accent was well suited to the ancient castle. The dark wood floors matched ebon hair, and cream stone walls accented porcelain skin perfectly. Ignored by the stranger, moving portraits whispered in hushed tones.

"She's here."

"How could it be her?"

"It's not, she's not old enough."

"Shut up, she'll hear you."

"Total fladdle."

"Someone tell McGonagall."

"SHHH!" With one dark eyed glance from the subject of their gossip they raced back to their own portraits. The inhabitants of those closest to her edged to the corners looking most uncomfortable to be in her commanding presence.

A smirk played across her lips, and she entered Dumbledore's Office. The moment the door closed a roar of gossip swamped the hall, even Dumbledore's aloof gargoyles joined into the speculations.

Long fingers caressed the mahogany table that was the centerpiece for the first tier of the prestigious wizards accommodations. The mysterious woman was careful to avoid the bowl of licorice snaps, tiny scars on her fingers spoke of a past experience with the 'little buggers' as she had so cheerfully deemed them.

A long pause. "Dumbledore is not here at the moment." The fluffy haired Armando Dippet informed her timidly.

"Oh I know, but he has a habit of showing up when I least expect it." A wry smile followed the careful words.

"I do not mean to be rude.." Armando says slowly.

"No, but I daresay your question will be anyway."

"Oh just spit it out Dippet!" Phineas Black was frustrated that the lot had fallen to the politest of the past headmasters to ask questions about the mysterious woman. Her arrival had been announced by a small tawny haired child whose pictures were scattered all over the castle, keeping Dumbledore, and his predecessors informed.

"Alright." Dippet nodded slowly, organizing his thoughts. Phineas grumbled to the amusement of the woman. "I think the first question of ours should be about your involvement with Dumbledore, what is your purpose here?"

Her eyes darkened dangerously, "I am here first and foremost to see an old friend. My other motives have to do with the location of a certain curiosity that has escaped my grasp for many years."

Armando quailed under her gaze, and even Phineas gulped audibly. "I apologize for the forwardness of my address, it's our job to keep an eye on the professor." She nodded curtly. "Since I have already angered you, I will ask only one more question of you dear lady, what is your name?"

"Helena George Wells." The mere whisper of Dumbledore could silence a crowd, still the ocean, bring about the pin-drop hush in even the loudest of dins. This time was no exception.

She whipped around, hands flying to her hip instinctively. The aged wizard with his half-moon glasses and twinkling eyes raised a fluffy eyebrow. She relaxed her grip on the strange gun resting on her hip with a sigh, "Sorry Albus, things have been... Hectic."

"I can see that." His piercing gaze traveled her face, and his heart skipped a beat, "You haven't aged a day." He accuses.

"Actually I aged five years since you disappeared to your fantastic boarding school." H.G. Wells turns around the room, "I used to think you were telling me fairy tales when you sent those letters." She admitted, "But once again, you surpassed all expectations."

Albus chuckled, "I actually had a grade in the exams here changed to your favorite praise. Exceeds expectations."

"Really? I'm flattered Albus, I didn't bring you anything." Her admission seemed chagrined compared to her previous flippant answers. The change wrought in her personage was alarming to Dumbledore, considering his first meeting with her was as a young schoolboy ignoring his aggravating private tutor, it shouldn't had startled him so much.

* * *

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do please pay attention." The sharp reprimand brought him back from wonderland. His boyish pout would have made any *other* teacher smile and call him a sweet little boy, but she frowned, "You seem to have a certain misconception about your presence in my home Albus. I am not here to teach. You are here to learn."

His eyebrows furrowed, trying to puzzle out the distinction, and it wasn't long before the brilliant boy of seven had deciphered her meaning. "Then what are you here to do?" His question had caught her off guard, no one had ever thought of that, not even her little Christina who was about Albus' age, playing in the corner with an abacus.

"I am readying myself for a student." She decided.

"What?" Her words always puzzled him, made him think in a way that was quickly becoming uncomfortably interesting. He wasn't supposed to enjoy looking for out of the box answers, he wasn't supposed to find pleasure in a well thought out argument, his own or someone else's. He, Albus Dumbledore was the proud inheritor of a wealthy family, no one dared argue with him, out of the box was for eccentrics and layabouts with nothing better to do but twiddle their toes and write poetry.

Albus Dumbledore's life should have been swimming in ponds, climbing trees, and playing games. Instead he found himself experimenting with cook's recipes, reading massive books he had to request help to carry, and listening to this woman change his outlooks on life.

"You're getting ready for a student? Who is it?"

Her mysterious smile irked him, it always led to another enigma, "I don't know, perhaps you, perhaps another, perhaps no one at all."

"Then why are you getting ready if you don't know who it is?"

"A very dear friend of mine once told me, that when a teacher is ready, the student appears, and for all my life I have seen it happen. All the best teachers always have a student trailing their heels, asking questions, begging advice, teasing revelations out of their mentor until they have surpassed his expectations, and abilities. Then the cycle begins again. If this continues, I have no doubt the future will be a wondrous place young Albus."

* * *

Albus hadn't understood until he met Harry, at that point he was quite sure that all his preparation had been to give that delightful boy the knowledge he needed, and craved. The situation with Voldemort had not yet been solved, and Harry's life was still tied to his nemesis, but Albus had no doubt that Harry's skill, power, and moral character would easily outstrip his own.

"I don't think I would have been able to accept any gifts Helena, I already owe you so much."

His old teacher's face contained so much more than the wrinkles and lines on his could ever describe. This woman had lived. Lived, and lived until it seems life had little left to offer her insatiable mind. "You were always an overachiever Albus. You don't have to pay me back, it was a pleasure to tutor you in the pursuits of the mind."

There was a collective gasp from the wall of portraits.

"Horcruxes?"

"Hallows?"

The loudest voice, Mr. Black, ever insistent that he receive whatever he pleased, "How?"

"Mr. Black, are you a fan of H.G. Wells? A muggle author, but her story is quite the adventure." Helena replied mysteriously.

"No, I don't read muggle books." Phineas waved a hand dismissively.

"Phineas, I told you it would come in handy." A female witch scolded, "Please dear do go on."

"Well H.G. had a student, brilliant, talented, and quite determined to be the best he possibly could. A certain Albus Percival Dumbledore. He however left for some private school at the age of twelve, not three years after her daughter Christina had died. With no pupil, and no child, and no love in her heart. She found herself working in an interesting and dangerous place. One I have no doubt your St. Mungo's has to thank for many a patient." Helena chuckled.

Dumbledore had settled into a soft chaise, and gestured for Helena to sit. He had never heard what happened after Christina's death. She had died only a year after his initial tutelage under H.G. and his letter to Hogwarts came soon after.

"Before you continue, would you like something to eat? Drink? Licorice snap?" He took a handful of the nippy little sweets, handling them with care.

"No Albus, I am quite well." She replied, taking a seat across from Dumbledore with an easy view of her captivated audience.

"Now.. Yes, I took a job at the warehouse, and became involved in a study of time. You know how I get." He nodded in reply, she could spend days, weeks locked in her experiments, nothing could break her away from an idea except success or total failure.

"Well, some of my experiments were.. Dangerous to say the least. I refused to stop, and people got hurt. My employer's methods of punishment however were... I don't know if I should say cruel, or merciful." Helena's face darkened with the emotion of past events. Her eyes; They reminded the wrinkled man with fingers steepled in thought of another young person fueled by rage at his circumstances to change the world. Tom Riddle's anger and hurt glared out from his teacher's eyes.

"My life was preserved in bronze, it's less painful than it sounds, but the years you spend growing, aging, living, I was consumed with thoughts, questions, and not a soul to ask, or converse with. I actually only woke up a short while ago. I hear the earthquake I caused gave your community quite the heart attack."

Albus smiled wickedly, so that was what caused the earth to shake during the quidditch world match, "That was you? Helena for a muggle you are talented at causing mischief."

"A muggle?! No muggle could have caused that stir!" Even Dilys the woman so concerned with hearing everyone's story was positive that Helena was mistaken.

"Indeed. You use wands infused with magic, I used a minoan trident. Do not worry, it is back where it belongs, and I have no more thoughts of destruction."

Dumbledore was disturbed once more in how much she had changed, was he wrong to worry about Tom? Could the woman who had truthfully shown him what the world really looked like be the real threat? Either way, he needed to find out, and act accordingly.

"So you found a way to time travel, found the future and decided to destroy it? I admit, you have exceeded expectations."

"Do not judge me Albus." She snapped, "I always could read you. I reember your little sister, and I remember the rage, and pain it gave. Consider being trapped in a bronze box contemplating your failure, realizing that the real killer's were living their lives. One hundred forty-eight years Albus. That is how long I was forced to re-live my lapse in foresight."

"I see." He replied softly, though in truth he did not. His spectacles failed him, magic though they were, understanding of that kind only came from experience.

"If you are no longer interested in destroying the world that destroyed your child, what are you interested in? Eh?" One of the old headmasters waved his ear trumpet to emphasize his bellowed question.

"I am interested in what you wrote to me about Albus, so very long ago, you told me a tale, of three brothers, and the mysterious gifts they received from that dark stranger."

He sighed, he had hoped she would forget that particular letter.

* * *

_Dear Miss Wells,_

_This year I met a young man I am sure you would be proud of, Grizwald._

_He's intelligent, questions everything just like you always advise. I do apologize for not corresponding more often, but I find myself drawn into the kind of research that consumes the mind, drawing me deeper into the contemplation of it's possibilities._

_I apologize for being so cryptic, I know you already know much about my life, so I feel no qualms in telling my old teacher the subject of my research._

_Enclosed here I offer you a fairy tale, told to most wizard children to put them to sleep, like Cinderella, Snow white, and others. The difference, is that this one has a real history. In particular, the Elder Wand, it's power has made it both obvious, and bloody throughout it's history._

_My friend Grizwald and i want to try and find these Hallows, combine them, see what a pair of talented wizards can do._

_Please Miss Wells, any advice on how to go about this, and anything you can dig up in the muggle history books would be positively wonderful._

_Your devoted pupil,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

* * *

"Ah." His face was cryptic, no longer as easy to read, no matter what Helena told him. Part of her wanted to just leave, go home and fall apart. It was such a big portion. No, this is for Myka, I will not let go until I know there's no means of getting her back.

He paused, then went on, "Which one?"

"The stone."

"Helena, the story was clear, the people aren't actually brought back to life, Christina is-"

"This isn't about Christina Dumbledore." She barked.

"Then why do you need the resurrection stone Helena?" His gaze was soft, eyes piercing through all of her defenses. The boy had grown up admirably.

"I-" Helena had to look away. "Someone else. Please Albus, I need this, can you find it?"

"I think I can help." He replies, causing her to look up hopefully, "But I need assistance in retrieving it. Perhaps you would be willing to help an old man?"

"I can do that." Helena chuckles.


	2. Trapped Like Peter Rabbit

"You can never have enough socks. I replied, the dear boy is so sweet, I doubt he even realized what he was asking of an old man."

Helena laughed, "Socks? Was that really all you could think of Albus?" They had spent the trip to the old Riddle estate sharing stories, reminiscing about everything but that which mattered most. Not a word was said about Myka's death, nor did Helena ask about the boy who had scarred her pupil so thoroughly

"Well here we are, the Riddle estate."

"Who are the Riddles? And what do they have to do with the Stone?"

"Direct descendants of the second brother." Albus explained, "I deduced the relationship through an old pupil of mine, and the memories of a silly man called Dawlish."

"You're starting to sound like a friend of mine." She laughs, "Ever heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Sadly no, it's been a long time since I've had a moment to read any literature, muggle or otherwise."

"Well bullocks, perhaps you should take a vacation Albus." Helena suggested, "Holmes was all about the deductive reasoning."

"I'm a touch busy at the moment." Dumbledore raised his eyebrow, "Not just with this."

"Well then let's finish this up, and get you back to your precious school." Her smile was gone, and she muttered in an afterward, "And then I can finish my work."

Dumbledore gave Helena a long hard look through his spectacles, allowing them the proper time to piece together what he knew. His vision, (Though he would never admit it was fading without the glasses) grew as sharp as when he was a youth. He truly saw his old teacher.

A smooth young face that still spoke of many years, hands, sure and steady with any weapon, the smallest of needles, the tiniest of toolsets, shook now, tremors of... something. _I need to look further._ Legs as powerful as ever, trained to their peak, had carried this woman through anguish, bereavement, rejoicing, and triumph without pause. Her confidence had waned, all of her was shaking, trembling like a leaf, how had he not noticed? Was his hunt for Voldemort, his horcruxes, the hallows, becoming obsessive? Would he destroy Helena the way he had broken his sister? _Focus on Helena, not my own doubts._

That expression, like she's burning herself on a pyre she built. A face never forgotten. A person never forgotten. A life never forgotten. She looks like Severus did when he came to me, so helpless, so grief-stricken, she's lost another person because of a mistake.

"Helena..." _Oh. _"You found your one." It was a statement, barely uttered, but it snapped Helena's eyes up.

"Yes." The tiny broken whisper would have broken his heart if it had not already been shattered so many times.

"Helena, tell me." His wrinkled hand rested on her shoulder.

"She died. Simple as that."

"Nothing is as simple as an early death."

"Well this one was. I did my best to protect her, she made her choice, she died, now I'm doing my damndest to give her a chance."

"This woman, she was far more than the pupil you always said you were preparing for."

"Of course." Anger briefly graced her features, so worn down with care and worry.

"Let this go Helena, you and I both know the stone cannot bring anyone back. I made my peace with my sister's death, it's time you made yours. Don't destroy yourself in an attempt to bring them back. You proved last time that it cannot work."

"With science it can't." She muttered, "But magic? Why not, it's kept you alive hasn't it? A philosophers stone, isn't that what it's called? We have one in the Warehouse, though I don't doubt yours was less biased. If your magic can create that, why can't I try and find a way to bring my love back?"

_Oh, all the justifications I had made. So many lovely ideas, rare items I was sure if I could get my hands on them, my dear sweet sister would be back in my arms, alive again. It was only after my fight with Grizwald that I gave up entirely on the hallows. She's not going to give up until she fails entirely_. Albus thought despairingly.

"Perhaps; Perhaps you shall see what I missed then." There was no stopping her, so he might as well help her.

"Thank you Albus." She sagged in relief.

Still concerned for her, he took the right fork on the dusty road, following the switchbacks with an easy grace. "Older than me, still doesn't act like it." Helena mumbles startling a laugh out of Albus.

"And you have yet to get the wrinkles. How about we trade, I give you a few wrinkles, and you can have twenty minutes with Madam Pomfrey." Albus jokes.

"Brilliant, I could use a spa day." Helena teases, easing her way into the ominous hedges that had overgrown the entrance to the grungy hut. "But not here. My god, this place is bloody awful. Are you sure one of the three most powerful artifacts in wizard history is residing HERE?"

"Indeed, if my information is right. This is where it has resided for many a year." Dumbledore replied, nudging a small piece of scrap metal. A doxy flew out from under it, made a face at Helena, and raced into one of the trees.

"Humph." Helena went to touch the door, and Dumbledore grabbed her arm, "Not yet, this bit is my job."

Dumbledore pulled out his ornate wand, a unique design on the wood, like skulls, with a bone for the handle a little morbid for her old pupil. His stance was easy, but those piercing blue eyes were finally closed in concentration.

Shimmers passed over the house, zipping out of existence, flashing like they'd been dipped in neutralizing jelly. She would never tell him, but Helena was impressed. He had gone from silly daydreamer to a serious researcher. His attention to detail was reminiscent of Myka, his confidence, it was worthy of the smile she allowed to curl her lips.

"Let's get this show on the road." She replied when he stepped back. Without waiting to hear his approval, she reached forward, ripping the door open to a grimey room layered in dirt and grease. There, right in the center of the room was it, it had to be, a small black box just big enough for a ring. She lifted her foot to take a step, and paused, neck hairs standing on end. "Bullocks." She muttered, trying to find the source of her unease, "Are you sure you dispelled all the magical traps Albus?"

"Quite positive Helena." He replies in a dry whisper, remaining behind the cautious woman, trusting to her experience.

She gave the piles of pots, and smashed cushions a once over, dismissing them immediately as the source of her distrust. She glanced down by her feet and noticed a small doll lying on the ground, she reached down carefully and picked up the doll, looking for anything out of place. "Now what is this doing here." She mutters, hefting it, "Good gracious it's heavy."

A mechanical clank echoed through the hut, and the sound of gears whirring away gave Helena cause to curse. "Bullocks. Peter is going to have a heyday with this."

"Peter?" Dumbledore asked, for once quite stumped as to what his mentor could be talking about.

"A nuisance who likes to point out my many flaws. Unlike you Albus, he never quite learned to grow up."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, "Ahh how I have missed you. Some of your ideals are positively naive, and it makes you all the better."

Helena rolled her eyes, and examined the doll more closely, "Does this look familiar to you? It.. Seems to ring a bell somewhere."

"I am afraid in this instance your expertise outweighs my own." He replied, examining the doll over her shoulder, "If it were larger I might suggest a changeling, or a silenced mandrake."

"You will have to tell me what those are at a.. Later.. Date." Helena's quick wit fails her as she realizes exactly what she is holding in her hands. "Oh, dear."


	3. Blood From A Stone

Helena berated herself for not recognizing it earlier, after her beloved had had a run in with the tea set, she had read up on Bellatrix Potter. In her hands was the scarecrow made by Mr. McGregor. "I don't suppose you have something purple on you?" She asked lightly, hiding her dread over what might happen.

"I'm sorry?" Albus quirked his head, the motion lost on Helena as quite suddenly a bear trap appeared, and clamped around her leg, evoking an agonized scream that sent chills through Dumbledore's blood. His own terror wasn't far off when a large basket came down upon him, trapping him completely. The wicker had knocked his wand out of his hand, sending it rolling across the floor and out of sight.

"Accio." He muttered, looking through the handle of the basket to see his wand lying adamantly under the broken end table.

"Bullocks." Helena swore again, her voice laced with agony. Albus could barely hear her speak. "I don't suppose you are familiar with The works of Bellatrix." She asked, always the teacher, even where her face was frozen in shock, and blood ebbed from the wound around her calf.

"Indeed I am, I didn't know the Lestranges had a connection to Tom before he became the figure he is today. Pray tell, what has she done this time?" Albus sounded strained to Helena's ears, and she had no bloody clue what he was talking about.

"Bellatrix Potter my dear boy! The childrens author, did not Kendra read to you at night?" Helena's temper was short, though with the amount of pain she must have been in, Dumbledore was quite impressed with her ability to speak at all. He was also surprised by the name given to him. A mixture of the brightest, delightful child, and the woman whose great mind, and broad imagination had been broken in Azkaban.

"I am afraid I have spent too long among wizards Helena, Potter is the name of my student, and Bellatrix the name of his uncle's killer. If there is another with those names, I remain sadly uninformed." He kept his voice calm and collected, hiding the severe discomfort of having his wand removed from him. Even had it not been the Elder wand, it's removal from his hand would have been disquieting. Nothing was supposed to be able to remove the powerful device from his hand unless he willed it so.

"Potter had terrible nightmares, and she wrote them down in a dream journal. These stories eventually were edited for childrens novels, much like the story we followed here in fact. But.." She winced, "It seems that this would be the scarecrow made by the villain, an old farmer who was tired of rabbits stealing from him."

"The point Helena, we can talk fairy tales later." Albus was starting to feel quite out of sorts, a dread settling into his skin, like a cat into a worn couch.

"Well this will keep us trapped. And I have no neutralizer with me, and your wand is out of reach of both of us."

Albus closed his eyes, trying to force his formidable mind into some semblance of focus, looking at it as a puzzle, serene, calm. He took a deep breath, the sounds of Helena panting faded away into darkness. "How did they escape in the story?"

"Peter chewed his own leg off, and Benjamin's father flipped over the basket, after which he beat the child to within an inch of his life for breaking the rules." Helena replied quietly, "If you don't mind though, I would rather keep my leg."

"Indeed." He rubbed his temples, searching for anything that could help... "Helena, you said neutralize." Dumbledore's voice suddenly had a sense of urgency, "Is there a way to destroy them?"

"Dear Lord, you really are trying to get my into trouble with everyone to whom I'm responsible." Helena grumbled, sliding the doll through the hole in the basket. "It's the jacket, and the shoes. Tear them to shreds.. And watch out for sparks."

The ancient wizard gingerly hefted the doll in his left hand before removing the jacket and shoes, "Such tiny things." He mutters to himself, shredding the old fabric easily. What he did not expect was the shrieks of agony that emanated from the object. Fireworks flashed before his eyes, blinding him, as a searing pain shot through his arm. The skin around his fingers tightened, shriveled.

In the same moment, the basket disappeared into mist, the iron affair clamped on his teacher's leg followed the same tune, though the wounds remained. "Accio." He muttered, this time receiving the satisfying impact of the wand against his palm. He looked down at it to settle his mind, relax after the sensation of being helpless. A small gasp from the old man announced to Helena that something beyond her leg was wrong. She looked up to see Albus staring at a blackened limb, the charring crept up his flesh, staining his pale skin an ashy black.

Helena leapt up using furniture, and piles of junk to move her, she stumbled over the couch, and ripped the tiny black box off it's stand. She pocketed it quickly, and reached out for Dumbledore's untainted hand. "Albus!" She exclaimed, breaking hs shocked focus, "Get us out of here!"

He took her hand in his, and apparated to the first place that came to his mind. "I told you never to come back here! I-" The loud fellow with black greasy hair, and a large hooked nose came stalking around the corner, his eyes wide with shock, "Dumbledore, what happened?"

Albus leaned heavily on Helena, who was barely able to stand herself. "Help us." He mumbled softly before all the lights went out.

* * *

"Leave me alone, I am fine." Helena snapped for the eighth time that morning. Poppy Pomfrey was having a beast of a time trying to check Helena's leg. The wounds had not healed under any magic, though the blood replenishing potion had certainly helped, she still required almost constant care, and the active woman chafed at the treatment.

"Now see here Ms. Wells, I must check your leg, and you must be silent before I make you be silent."

Being forced to sit, to wait while Myka was lying dead made Helena relive her death again.

_The blood barely showed on Myka's vest, the small hole wouldn't have been noticed at all if it hadn't been the cause of the searing pain racking Helena's heart. Helena's pained cry echoed through the Bronze sector. It shouldn't have been her, she should have been with Pete, but she had been feeling ill, and Helena had volunteered to go._

_Mrs. Fredrics had warned them all of Arthur's unstable condition, she had told Myka to let him go, it was Helena's fault, she had always encouraged Myka to disobey. Her love had stayed, tried to reason with the man she considered father. He had shot her, left her to die in Helena's arms. Made her feel useless, wasted, angry._

"There, isn't that better?" Madam Pomfrey asked softly.

Helena turned to stare at the woman uncomprehendingly, "It will not be better until my dear ones stand with me again. I cannot do that until you release me from this prison you call a hospital."

Madam Pomfrey bit her lip, looking quite frightened, and rushes off to find Dumbledore. He had been allowed to go about his business quickly, Severus was not the most maternal of healers, and as soon as his charge could leave, he practically kicked him out. Helena had grumbled almost constantly under the grousing woman, but a week was all she could withstand with Myka's salvation just four floors up in Albus' office.

"Helena.." Dumbledore sighed, "Please try not to traumatize Madam Pomfrey, she is a medical genius." He was tired, the down-side of destroying the artifact was taking it's toll on his mind.

"Albus, look at me." Helena commanded.

He knew to jump to that voice, so jump he did. His eyes met hers, "Yes?"

"I will treat your nurse more kindly, if I may have some place to work, somewhere I can go. Just let me out of this damn room, or you shall have a rebellion on your hands, the likes of which have not been seen since the colonies." She threatened, feeling guilty that she had given the kindly nurse a scare.

* * *

"What are you doing in here?!" Her scottish accent always became more pronounced under stress, and right now, Minerva McGonagall is stressed. She waved her arm in front of her, trying to waft away the fumes before she remembered the spell Pamona had taught her to keep the fertilizer smells in the greenhouses from making her faint. The fumes started to dissipate through the open door, and once the ability to breath without gagging returned, Minerva found the strangest sight.

The room was a mix between a potion's lab, the Muggle Studies collection, and McGonagall's own Transfiguration classroom. "I am working, what does it look like to you?" Helena called over her shoulder, too engrossed to become irritated.

"It looks like you are attempting to top Peeves in his destruction of Hogwarts." Minerva coughed, looking over Helena's shoulder. All she could see were wires, glass bulbs, green boards with strange metal dots placed in odd patterns.

Helena humph, not pleased with being compared to that little bugger. "I am attempting to amplify the stone's capabilities. Einstein suggested that matter and energy are interrelated, hence your ability to use your so called magic."

"Very well." Minerva nodded, not sure who, or what an Einstein was, but she was willing to play along for a glimpse into the mind of Dumbledore's first mentor. Someone he spoke very highly of. Not usually one to pry, McGonagall had found herself entranced by the mechanical devices, and total concentration of the brilliant woman, she had found herself wondering why Albus hadn't brought her in to teach Muggle Studies, then again, there was also the question of her obvious youth. All in all, a very intriguing puzzle.

Helena smirked, knowing Minerva was clueless, "This stone creates a direct conversion from energy to energy, creating an illusion out of thin air. Not the actual person, but their image."

"Well if that's the case, then couldn't you just use something else? A wand or something?" Minerva mused, starting to feel herself pulled into the elusive question, the unreachable goal of returning life.

"No, the Stone is specific. It creates the image, and memories, and 'life' of a person. This targeted effect cannot be copied by a simple untuned device, and my abilities are not such that I could tune a device in the same unique way."

Minerva stared at the brilliant woman, "You mean to say that you already know how to accomplish this?" This.. Muggle woman, had, in just under two weeks, devised a means for resurrection. Even a mind like Dumbledore's was stumped by the question, and this mortal had done it. Minerva struggled hard trying to think of some way to poke holes in Helena's theory. The woman sat, smugly, watching the Transfiguration professor imagine her plans. Plans that had been over a hundred years in the making.

Almost silently, the older woman discovered the fatal flaw, something obvious, simplistic, Helena must have thought of it, but Minerva was unable to help herself uttering it aloud, wishing to hear the answer, like a toddler asking for desert, Minerva McGonagall needed to know something she could not find out for herself. She spoke, seven little words. Always seven, the magical number that ties all things together.

"You can't get blood from a stone."


	4. In The Darkest Of Times

**A/N: **You wanted me to say when I was writing for/about you. I am.

"Please work, Please work." Helena pressed her hands together as if in fear. Dumbledore watched her pace like a caged lioness. The woman Helena had brought in, well, her body was lying peacefully on the table, Minerva was also there to provide support. She had learned why Albus held the woman in such high regard, and had learned to respect her methods.

"Helena, it will not work if you do not start." Albus said quietly, breaking Helena's focus. She whipped around to look at him in surprise, as if she had forgotten the others even existed. At this moment, Helena couldn't have cared whether the others were there or not.

Her heart was in her throat, a fist seizing up around it at the thought of failure. She was choking, drowning, her eyes prickled, but the tears wouldn't come. Helena had waited so long for this opportunity, had worked so hard to be prepared for her one. She didn't want to ruin this chance. She ached to see Myka's eyes, open, alive with life and light. It was almost too much to try, what if it failed? What if like so many artifacts it had a downside. If she did this, if she brought back her love, would she be the same?

Had it taken too long? Helena was taking a step back, staring at her love like Frankenstein at his greatest creation. This could make her life, or break her heart. This step, this plunge, would it be worth it?

"Helena, you will never be able to live with yourself if you give this up." It wasn't the words that startled her, it was the speaker. Minerva, the voice of reason, always thinking, analyzing. The look on her face was... Unspeakable. What Helena saw was enough. She squared her shoulders, reached down to touch the stone and whispered, "I'm here for you love. I'm coming." Her voice cracked under the pressure, she felt as if the eyes of the world were on her as she started the ritual.


	5. To The Well Organized Mind

"Alas, earwax again." Dumbledore chuckled to himself, seemingly unphased by the disgusting idea. Had Helena done more than barely pry open her eyes, she would have gagged at the idea.

"What.. Are you doing Albus?" Helena croaked, the air dragging through her throat uncomfortably. She struggled to sit up, and Dumbledore placed a hand behind her shoulder, helping her into an upright position.

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. They are quite proud to boast every flavor possible."

She rubbed a hand tiredly over her eyes, then stiffened, "Albus, where is she? Where is Myka?" Helena had passed out immediately after the ritual, and slept for days. Helena swept her gaze about the room, "Myka." She gasped, stumbling to her feet, and loped over, falling against the side of Myka's bed, the jarring motion barely caused the curly haired woman to stir.

She moved, rolling over towards Helena with a groggy smile, still firmly ensconced in whatever dream held her. "Did it work? Albus, did it work?" Helena gripped the side of Myka's bed with a strength that belied her general weakness.

He pried her fingers off the metal, and held her hands gently in his, tenderly, "Almost."

* * *

"So when you turn one thing into another, transfiguration, you can turn a rat into a cup, and back again, but you cannot take a dead body and make it living?" Myka asked in disbelief.

McGonagall sighed, rubbing her eyes, this insatiable woman had been searching the shelves with more vigor than Hermione Granger. Asked more questions than Albus, and refused to believe anything unless it was fully proven to her. She was insufferable, and the head of Gryffindor would have loved it at any other time.

August 28th however, was not really the best time for constant pestering. It was only three days until the student body arrived, Peeves had just flooded the Slytherin common room, and Snape was busy trying to keep Slughorn under control. Minerva had classes to prepare, things to clean up, and the Order to oversee. She did not have time for Myka's questioning, let alone the depth of these penetrating questions.

"Yes, we can bring bodies back to a life similar to animals. Craving instinctual things. Life is really a poor word for it. Animals are fine because they only work on instinct, humans however are thinking, postulating, creating beings. Our actions and thoughts are far more complex. You, to all intents and purposes, are a miracle, even as limited as you are in said life." Minerva replied shortly, trying to make sense of an extremely complex concept. "Now would you please set down those manuals? I am sure there are more in the library."

Myka did as she was told and left. That was another thing she shared in common with Ms. Granger, a respect for the rules. It was a shame... No, McGonagall shook her head and went back to work, it was Helena's choice to make, and in her place, Minerva wasn't sure she would choose differently.

* * *

Almost two years had passed. A glorious, loving, affectionate two years. Myka and Helena had been inseparable. Not only because of the bond between them, refusing to let them move more than a mile or two apart, but also the knowledge that they had found each other once more, beaten death once more, brought an even greater depth to the emotions they shared.

They stood in a tent. It was dark outside, the soft 'hoo' of an owl, and the rustle of mice were the only sound. Inside, it was a cheerfully rumpled room, a camp table, a couch, bunk beds, and a small kitchen. The smell of cats was slightly off-putting, but the two women were able to ignore it. They were here for Dumbledore, to do as he had asked, even though it nearly killed Helena to do it.

"How will he even know it's there?" Myka whispered, aware of the two teens in the back. The third was nowhere to be seen.

Helena lifted the little golden orb, a 'snitch' Albus had called it. "I do not know Myka, but Albus had faith, I simply hope it was not misplaced... Again." She put the ball to her lips, and whispered, "I am going to die." It opened, and she placed the tiny black stone inside. It now had a bronze wrapping around the sharp edges where Helena had socketed it inside a device for her attempt to get Myka back.

"Helena.." Myka touched the dark haired beauty, "Don't beat yourself up, neither of us could have known Snape would kill him."

Helena opened her mouth to refute the statement when Myka felt a small cold piece of wood touch the back of her neck, "Who are you, and how do you know Snape?" A gravelly voice demanded. Myka raised her hands, and Helena turned to look for the source of the noise. A gangly young man with shaggy black hair, brilliant green eyes, and a scar stretching in a jagged line from his hairline to the edge of his eyebrow, splitting the dark hair in a dramatic way. He looked like he had been through Hell and back.

"Would you be Ronald, or Harry?" Helena asked curiously, hands on her hips. He couldn't know about the mini Tesla tucked into her belt. She wanted to meet the boy who had changed her favorite pupil so much. She needed to know that she was risking her own life, and Myka's for someone worthwhile.

He stared her down with a small amount of confusion in his eyes, "How did you get passed the wards? Where are your wands?"

Helena heaved a sigh, it seemed he was not very knowledgeable in the art of communication, and if they continued in this way for long, the others would wake up. Even talking to this one was technically breaking the rules Albus had placed on her. "My name is Helena, I am what you call a... Muggle? We got in via..." She started to snap, searching for the word, "Myka, what was it called?"

"A portkey." She sighed, "You really should have taken the time to read some of those books. Miranda Goshawk was quite interesting. You would have enjoyed Newt Scamander."

Harry took a step back, wand pointed at both of them, "Two muggles used a portkey to get in here, you know our names, but not what we look like. How?"

Helena smirked, this boy was smarter than he looked. He didn't seem overly bright, but that was why he had friends to help him. She dropped the snitch into his bag while taking a step forward to mask the action. Her arm wrapped around Myka's waist, and she replied simply, "I open at the close."

The blue glow of another portkey blinded Harry, hoisting the two women away, back to South Dakota. Harry didn't wake his two friends, he never mentioned the meeting because they wouldn't believe him. Instead, he went back to his guard post and wondered how two muggles had known Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.


End file.
